SHEEP MANIA - LEVEL 33

I got myself a new toy. It's a mobile phone ("a phone" as I like to call it). My previous phone came directly from the Dark Ages (and it had no Chess…). Luckily, my brother decided to sell it to me as he was going to buy a better one.

It has lots of games available (and Chess!!!) because of something wonderful called "Symbian Operating System", "JAVA" and crap like that.

I couldn't care less about that technical stuff, especially on the field of "phone technology". I guess we all know one or two Phone-Nuts (more if you are really unlucky) who are able to describe these systems (and others I can't even mention because my brain usually gets catatonic) with increasing enthusiasm, for hours, in such an obscene detail that you are led to believe that they invented these systems themselves. It's a "phone" guys. Just a freaking phone… It can't be that fascinating. It's a dumb machine.

But there are PC-Nuts too. And they behave in a similar way and are sometimes the same "one or two people you know" (My apologies if by any chance you happen to suffer from this disorder. Get well soon!).

Coming to think of it, there are Nuts everywhere about: cars, shoes, food, soccer, clothes, vegetables, Star Trek, Elvis, Cannabis, LIDL supermarkets, the fascinating Royal Game of Che… (Oops! Let's carry on...)

First thing I did on the "phone" was to download and install every remotely interesting looking game that I could find (Torrents are so cool! But make me wish I had one Terabyte more of hard disk space…).

Well, I then began to try them out one by one.

When I got to "Sheep Mania" (fifth game I tried…), I just went berserk and kept playing it without being aware of the horrible fate that was in store for me.

I was doing fine and going through the levels like a bullet. I got to the point where I was able to solve the puzzles in advance on my mind and only then move those lazy sheep around and into their rightful blue places. I was feeling just like a clever Sheppard would (if they existed).

But suddenly this "so-full-of-himself" bullet hit on a wall. A giant unsurpassable wall. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. The sheep began losing some confidence in their once brilliant leader.

I've been showing this level to friends and they also couldn't see how to solve it.

It's known as "Level 33" (a.k.a. the Horror Level).

I am beginning to obsess with this. It just isn't possible to be that hard. But I presently believe it's harder than finding a cure for cancer. When and if I ever get to see what level 34 looks like (which is basically what I would expect Heaven to be at this point), my next step will be to find a cure for cancer. Nothing can be as difficult as Sheep Mania's dreaded… Level 33.

I hate this level already and it's only been two days (this is no way to begin a serious relationship). When I stop on the sidewalk waiting for the traffic lights to go green, I begin to visualise it. I wake up thinking about it too. I know that after work, he will be waiting for me. And I wonder what the world will be like when I eventually conquer this tremendous enigma.

I've started to dream nightmares about the horrible… Level 33; and waking up soaking in nervous sweat screaming "NOOooooo! SHEEP! MORE SHEEP!! 33 SHEEP! ARGH! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!" and stuff like that.

I have already wasted more time on this level alone than on all the others put together. That's how hard it is. It actually took me less than an hour and a half to get to this level (not in one go as I unfortunately have a job and got to show up or they might think I'm dead or something). I reckon that I have now been around this one since Friday (today is Sunday, I think...). Almost two hours overall and… nothing! This is so frustrating.

I now intend to spend this Sunday afternoon fighting with my hangover mind against the legendary… Level 33. Behold for it is the Titan's Struggle of the whole weekend! This is probably one of the signs of the coming Apocalypse too.

Most people would probably just give up at this point (no one likes feeling stupid), but I have solved very difficult Chess problems (I'm slightly addicted to Chess…slightly…). So, herding these stupid sheep cannot be harder than Chess. It is not possible. Chess is the hardest thing you can try to master and a lifetime is not enough (don't blame chess for this, blame Life for being rather short). I cannot also embrace the fact that I'm not able to solve the amazingly problematic… Level 33.

I feel like I've stumbled upon a fifth dimension crack of insane reality (I want to get out, but they keep pulling me back in). Although it may not seem, I am in fact an extremely rational and logical person (not all the time, "obviously").

Now I know how Kasparov felt on that scaring second game against IBM Deep Blue in 1997 in which the machine began to play human-like moves.

This is the face of the monster I'm trying to defeat. Presenting, "Sheep Mania" (Level 33 is lurking inside):

I know. It looks harmless and cute. But just try and solve it and you'll see what it does to the concept you have of your intelligence (it's usually a fantasy anyway).
This level will swallow you whole and slowly digest you alive.

Whenever I have a difficult problem, well… I obsess about it until I see a solution. I can be very persistent as I simply don't give up. I keep going back until I see it done. That's also why it is generally a bad idea to mess with me. I know no boundaries, no limits of any sort, when I get like this. It's a darker shade of me (which I really like because it reminds me of "The Godfather" trilogy which I simply adore for obvious reasons). It seldom presents itself, but now it is time for it to come forth. My darker side and the baffling… Level 33 are about to get acquainted with each other. It will be like a terrible mob war! (for the puzzling… Level 33, I hope…)

[Two struggling long hours later...]

Eureka!!! I finally got it! I'm so happy!

Sunday, October 28th 2007 (at precisely 18:03) is a date which will live in infamy for all Sheep! (especially those from Level 33)

I knew I could do it without having to set the problem up on a chessboard with pawns instead of sheep; Or without complex strategic campaign plans of attack (I was feeling desperate at some point...). I feel I've broken a mental barrier and incidentally completely wasted my Sunday afternoon. And for what? Stupid sheep. I hate the now broken… Level 33. And sheep. But Level 33…. Grrr…. I hope they all go into the slaughter house when they're finally on those blue circles waving goodbye.

Why couldn't I just play something else? Like "Snakes and Ladders", "Trivial Pursuit" (for kids) or "Monopoly" (Junior) or … or something that doesn't resemble mental torture?!

Sometimes it's really complicated being me. I like mental challenges but this was pure pain. My head aches (and not just from last night's Red Label) and I think it looks slightly bigger, reminding me of a documentary I saw on Area 51, featuring autopsies and interviews with this funny little green fella.

But what a relief!... Aaaah!… It's refreshing to feel a taste of victory (a small one but nonetheless…)
Now, I'm out to tell the fascinating tale of "our hero's journey" into the haunted Dark Forest (a.k.a. the 33th Sheep Triangle). And I'll probably need duck tape and some rope to make sure people will hear the end of this glorious and heroic odyssey of a very stubborn bloke versus a tiny puzzle level.

Hmm… for a moment, it didn't sound like much of an accomplishment, but you try it. Really! Get the stupid game on your phone and see for yourself.

Level 33 is waiting for a piece of your mind too…

And if you get stuck on some earlier level, you know what to do: tell no one about it!

I need to rest. This was exhausting.

Nevertheless, "Cure for Cancer" you're next and it'll surely be a walk in the park (I guess everything will be after this…). Splitting the atom doesn't look so difficult now too.

When I get back from the diner, I'll take a brave look at level 34. It's gotta be easy…

MY (OUR) SPLIT PERSONALITY (IES)

It is true. I confess.

My personality is in fact split in two.

I call my alter ego the same name to avoid confusion – and the eventual collapse of social life.

I've parenthesised him to divide the bad from the "badder" (You separatist &%$!). This is already chaotic enough as it is and as you can see, he's not that polite too (*grumpy inaudible muttering*…).

Having Split Personality is a bit like a vinyl record playing both sides alternatively; or a coin that's always flipping and spinning; a bit like Janus, the Roman god who suffered from some slight bicephaly problems – more specifically a craniofacial duplication condition – ever since he attempted to break a wooden plank with his nose; or the Greek mythological monster Chimera, fruit of the forbidden love between two sexually confused animals and a very short-sighted one; or Orthrus, a two-headed mythic watchdog famous for both his fantastic Value for Money two-in-one security skills, and his fabled unique ability to bark, non-stop and in stereo, all night long – actually until every single Greek deity began considering suicide "a good career move"… (Look pal, everybody got the picture when you wrote "Split Personality" on the freaking title! Get on with it, I got stuff to do… Gotta tell you though, after all this time together it still amazes me the amount of gibberish nonsense you're able to squeeze into a single paragraph. Jeez!...)

Before the ugly word "he'scrazy" comes springing out with a typical slow sideways shaking of the head, please bear in mind that he's the mental one (oh! Really? You cannot possibly be serious…). I guess that makes me only "half-mental" as opposed to "complete lunatic sociopath" (Just look at the creepy stuff I have to put up with and on a daily basis… *sigh*).

Moreover, what most people describe as "mood swings", might just be hard evidence that there's someone attending the party of brainwaves going inside your mind that you didn't invite. That and ventriloquists.

Anyhow, this had to come out sooner or later and before it became too obvious (before-what?! *laughing all the way to the bank*). It has the advantage of making me look slightly less mad. At least I'm aware of it (Give the guy a nice plastic medal). But, how could it be otherwise? When one talks to one's other self (That's me!), this very topic tends to come up more frequently than you'd imagine it to (Or desire...). The truth is that I'm no longer fooling anyone, so I might as well admit to everything and have some fun with it.

"Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is a novel that speaks to my (our) heart(s) for obvious reasons. We actually got into an argument with each other about this very book because we both think we're the cool evil Mr. Hyde. Eventually we settled with Mr. Hyde also having Split Personality. We are presently discussing which one of us is the Mr. Hyde who pays the bills.

Some people have said to me, on occasion, that the voices I hear are my…hmm… what was that complicated word again? (It was "Conscience" you sick bastard). Oh, right. So it was.

Well, anyway, I then had a rather easy choice to make: either thinking I have a moral intruder living within (We both thought that could become uncomfortable); or else a moron I could easily overcome and ignore (Waitaminute! Who's being impolite now?). You are, for interrupting with your verbal pollution (*long sullen silence*).

I chose the latter and I'll probably be regretting this decision because it is sometimes confusing to exist like this (*whispering*: Tell me about it…). If one writer takes an hour to leave a short note to his mum, five will take the rest of the week just to decide on the greeting introduction (Was that a joke? My God…You should have taken that Paper Recycling job opportunity after all).

We come a long way and I've had, in the past, to do his homework for him (Ha! So you did, so you did…Sucker.). As you can probably tell already, he's a bit slow in the head (What the f***?! &§@%!!! ... *breathing heavily* … 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…).

He really thinks that he too has Split Personality.
I keep telling him that his alter ego is me or his conscience (Oh boy! Here we go again…12, 13, 14,…), but he never listens. I really think he made the whole thing up just to pick with me (Yeah, right…19, 20, 21,…).

The sad truth is that he's recently been diagnosed with Multiple Personality disorder (29, 3o… Ha-A! So, the professionals are, more or less…, on my side. I knew I had something wrong too but always thought it to be you).

To make things even more complicated, he calls his other personalities the same name we already have (Obviously to avoid confusion and social holocaust). This has the downside of making it impossible to hold credible elections as to see who's going to drive the body everyday. The same guy always wins and we can never come to realise just who he is.

Which one of us is real? (Me! Me!) We have long discussions about this and never seem to agree.

Myself, my alter ego and his imaginary friends, once came to the conclusion that none of us existed outside the scope of each other's imagination, but then we all sat on the two-day-science-project looking Lasagne lying forgotten on the sofa and the whole thing had to be thought all over from scratch (Indeed. It was a terrible blow as we were pretty certain we did not exist, but that mutant Lasagne on the pyjama was contradicting the very fundaments of our reasoning, namely because it did exist for sure).

Nonetheless, It was cool not to exist and to be able to utter the original excuse: "I haven't paid the loan lately because I realised I don't exist" to the cashier at the bank.

The fact is that this brain is getting a bit too crowded and sometimes it's difficult to accommodate everybody. There are some conflicting interests as we all have to make do with a single skinny body (Not to mention a deliriously imaginative mind).
Maybe larger and taller people can fit in more characters inside of them (Come again? You've just sunken into a new personal low. Incredible…).

Sometimes I want to sleep but he doesn't. It's also somewhat awkward, when one of us needs to use the toilet. We usually take turns which means I have to make the trips there twice as many times.

We don't even have the exact same taste in clothing, but fortunately wear the same size.

He usually picks - quite randomly I'm affraid - the top part; I get to choose - very carefully - the lower ones (This usually takes us two hours as it has proven to be almost impossible to put on a shirt and tie the shoes at the same time).

That might partially explain why we both (You) sometimes dress as if daltonism was a part of our (Your) psyche when in fact he is the one who's incapable of sorting out the difference between greenish blue and bluish green (It can't be done, I tell ya.).

Good thing we both enjoy watching the same shows and do some of the same stuff or else it would be impossible to survive this strange condition. For example, I don't like "Futurama" as much as he does but I make him watch the "Simpsons" to compensate.

It's terrific when I go to the cinema with him because we get a discount (We can purchase two tickets for the price of one and a half!).

We once dated the same girl for some time, but then he got fed up with her and met another in a different town. It was horrible to watch them make out. But on weekends he had to see me do it so I guess it was only fair.

Well, the good part with this situation is that sex has always been a threesome with one of us being rapped (Damn! Just how sick are you? Ok. You get to be the paying bills Mr. Hyde.). That's also why I'm a bit timid when it comes to dating for it is hard to express poetic love when there's this creep laughing through every hint of sentimentalism.

It's also infuriating when he changes the channel while I'm watching a movie (Yeah! And I always wait for the moment the main character is about to have the usual staggering revelation that twists the plot). I've actually used this to justify my apparent anti-social TV watching. The expression of disbelief on the faces of friends made me rethink my straightforwardness (Wow! Now this can't be a real word. You clearly made it up. What the hell is that? A train in disguise? A bulimic bird? No! It's Superword! *smiling sardonically*).

I personally think this whole thing has something to do with mirrors and Parallel Universes, but couldn't really quite figure out how. This hypothesis sounds a bit farfetched, notwithstanding it is still in the realm of possibilities (He surely means in the realm of "psychotic" possibilities, folks).

But if there are really Parallel Universes living in mirrors then I may be merely in touch with my outer dimensional self from another dimension (Probably the Fifth). And that would imply that even the Universe has Multiple Personalities. And then I wouldn't feel so peculiar and misplaced.

At the end of the day, this is like owning a private Parallel Universe in easy-to-carry format (Same here man).

(Oh, wait. That's it? You're done!? Phew…Glad this crap is finally over. For a moment there I thought I'd never hear the end of it. I feel…happy and... hmm… Psst! I think I need to use the little boy's room).